Consequences
by Alathea2
Summary: Even the best of mechs make mistakes, especially when anger temporarily clouds their judgment. Only good mechs try to make things right. After Prowl is fragmented following a false accusation because of a disastrous mission, Jazz and Ratchet face the consequences of their actions and try to make up for the wrong done to an innocent mech. A "Turning Points" story; alternate POVs.
1. Chapter 1

_This is the second side-story written in honor of the 1,500 review of 'Turning Points' and takes place between within and between chapters 23 and 24. This story was requested by __**Darth Krande**__, who wanted to see the post-fragmentation consequences for Jazz and Ratchet following their odious treatment of Prowl in chapter 23. For those of you who do not know my Turning Points fanverse, Prowl was a Decepticon who defected to the Autobots after Praxus was destroyed. I have tried to write this little fic as a completely stand-alone work, but it really would be abetter understood in context of its parent story: "Turning Points."_

_**Note: **I had originally intended this to just be a one-shot but it looks like it will instead be a two-shot. So the second part will be coming as soon as I can get it finished._

_**Warning:** This takes place after Jazz fragments Prowl's processor and deals with characters coming to terms with having violated an ethical ideal. So; some serious themes but nothing too graphic. I don't think._

_Enjoy._

* * *

**Note: **_This story takes place starting at the end of the briefing in the first scene of chapter 23 of "Turning Points."_

Despite the tight hold Prowl kept on his outward expression, Jazz could feel the roiling emotions flickering in his field. Unconsciously, he shifted away, knowing the growing rage being held just under control was rightfully directed at him. The feeling of the former Decepticon's memory files fragmenting under his mental touch replayed in the saboteur's processor, taunting him mercilessly. Prowl had _let_ him fragment his processor. Slagging ethical programming or not, Prowl had _let_ him have access and he had violated the trust inherent in that action.

The silver minibot was still well within the larger, black and white mech's striking range and while logic might dictate he put a safe distance between them first, Jazz did not retreat before releasing the magnetic restraints holding Prowl to the chair. A part of his spark actually _hoped_ Prowl would retaliate for the injustice he had committed.

Jazz kept absolutely still as Prowl pushed himself to his pedes with a sharp, tightly spoken, "Thank you."

Though the tactician turned away immediately, Jazz had to lean heavily on the table as the world lurched beneath him. He had ruthlessly fragmented the mech's processor out of spite because they had _assumed_ the former Decepticon had betrayed them and Prowl had _let _him do it. And then Prowl _thanked_ Jazz for letting him off the chair he had been restrained to. It was almost too much.

True, that expression of gratitude had been strained, true it had been extremely formal and it had been impersonal. But gratitude had still been expressed. Jazz did not deserve gratitude from that mech. Not now. Not in any form or fashion and his guilt-wracked spark burned in shame.

Jazz nearly jumped when the conference room door swished shut behind Prowl.

No one said anything for nearly a breem and even when Optimus asked if there was any input into whether Prowl should continue his probationary position the tactical department, Jazz kept his silence.

Finally, after all the other mechs present in the briefing room turned interrogation room had had their say, the Prime addressed him, "Jazz?"

Jazz hid a wince at the accusation he did _not_ hear in his leader's voice. He spoke without looking up from the table. "If Prowl wants ta stay in tactical, let 'im."

Silence fell heavy again and stretched into another half-breem. At length the Prime nodded. "Very well. Smokescreen, once his mental state is confirmed as stable, Prowl will be sent back to your department."

Smokescreen nodded mutely, shame keeping his armor clamped tight to his frame. Jazz understood; it was the younger mech's fault Prowl had been accused of treachery in the first place.

Optimus looked at his gathered officers and released a tired vent of air. "Dismissed."

Everyone rose slowly to their pedes – except Jazz who had never retaken his seat – and filed out of the conference room with heavy solemnity. Jazz continued to stand as if immobilized, letting the others brush past him with flattened armor and tightly held field. He was just about to turn and follow when the Prime spoke again, his voice hard.

"Jazz. Ratchet."

Both mechs froze entirely and those filing out of the room picked up their pace until soon it was just the three of them.

"Do I need to ask what happened?" The Prime questioned with a warning flicker in his powerful field.

Ratchet cleared his vents, "Sir, I…"

"_I_ did it Prime." Jazz cut the medic off, lifting his chin. "I fragmented Prowl. Ratchet was just…"

"I just made sure he couldn't defend himself." Ratchet cut in, spitting the words out bitterly.

Jazz's visor flashed and he turned his internally directed ire at the medic. "He didn't even try."

Ratchet's optics also flashed with acute anger. "You think that makes a fragging bit of difference?"

"Of course it does!" Jazz snapped, his engine revving.

Ratchet shook his helm, fist clenching. "I could have…"

"Silence!" The Prime did not yell, but his firm words succeeded in breaking through the argument and both mechs fell silent, though neither one looked at their Prime.

Releasing another weary intake of air Optimus spoke, his words heavy and the quiet disappointment that wove between each syllable was enough to make both saboteur and medic want to melt into the decking. "You are two of my most trusted officers. If any other mech had done what you two did, especially in front of witnesses… but then I too am culpable in that I did not stop you. I too let anger cloud my judgment."

Balling both hands into fists and slamming them onto the table, Jazz leaned forward finally lifting his gaze to again meet his Prime's, hating the hurt he saw buried deep in Optimus' optics. It was his fault, he did not want to see the Prime take responsibility for actions that were not his.

With an effort, Jazz kept his tone even and his words calm. "You cannot punish both of us without needing ta punish _everyone_. I'm tha one who actually fragmented Prowl. _I'm_ tha one who should be punished."

"Jazz…" Jazz hissed at the medic with such vehemence that Ratchet fell silent, optics wide. The saboteur looked back at the Prime, just as intense.

"Prime?" It was more of a demand than a question.

With a tiny shake of his helm Optimus spoke with measured words. "The failure today was not yours alone Jazz; we all believed him guilty of intentionally killing Autobot soldiers. It is hardly fair to…"

The growl of Jazz's engine – thick with self-directed loathing – cut the Prime off. "But _I_ tore his mind apart while he jus' _let _me do it. No one else. He dropped his fragging firewalls _knowing_ what I was planning ta do."

It was not the first time Jazz had fragmented a mech he was questioning. But it was the first time he had truly regretted it. And that regret all but radiated through his field, leaching into the air around him.

After a long handful of seconds the Prime nodded. "Very well. Jazz, report to the brig for the rest of the orn. If you wish, place yourself on restricted energon rations for the rest of the decaorn as well. But regaining Prowl's trust – if possible – is more important to the future of our cause and that will now fall on you more than anyone."

Jazz winced, that last statement feeling like a slap to the faceplate, all the more so because Jazz knew it was well-deserved. He looked to the side, hearing the implicit order in those words as well; orders to do what it took to reconcile with the tactician if possible. Not that he needed such an order.

"Prime…" Ratchet tried again but did not continue.

Optimus looked at his CMO. "You yourself have admitted that your role in this… travesty was passive in that Prowl never actually attempted to resist. And you did help defragment Prowl's processor on your own initiative."

Ratchet looked to the side. "That does not make it right."

"No." Optimus agreed gravely. "No, it does not. It is incumbent upon all of us not to let this happen again. Jazz? Go."

Jazz stiffened, straightening at the order. But he knew what was expected and, without a word, he spun around and stalked out of the briefing room.

Ratchet slumped as the door closed behind the saboteur and he released a vent of air. "You know, in some ways, what we did to Prowl was but a small penance for how many of us he has killed within the last six vorns. I know I got mad when Ironhide and Smokescreen sent him out to deal with Barricade, but… Primus, I still can't forgive him."

Optimus did not speak immediately; well aware that many Autobots still held Prowl's former position as a leading Decepticon tactician against him. The medics more so than the rest, for it had been on Prowl's orders that they had become special targets for the Decepticons. Processors flashing over the mission report again, Optimus thought he knew what had spurred Ratchet's uncharacteristic willingness to let a mech get hurt, even in regards to Prowl.

While it was true that Ratchet's job during that interrogation had been to back up Jazz's efforts, it had also been to ensure there was no abuse. Clearly, the medic had chosen to ignore that duty in favor of exacting revenge. Regardless of the fact that Ratchet had then rectified his error, it had still been a dereliction of duty: a break of trust. More so even than Jazz's fragmentation of Prowl. Judging by the pain Optimus saw in Ratchet's optics, he knew the CMO was painfully aware of that fact.

Optimus spoke softly, carefully considering his CMO. "Clipblade was on the fatality list."

Ratchet's engine growled and his field flickered between battling anger and pain. "The seventh medic from Iacon alone killed in the last two vorns. Because of him."

"And you believe that fact justifies what was done to Prowl?"

Ratchet harrumphed angrily and then slumped in defeat. "A part of me does."

"Yet you helped Prowl afterward." Optimus pointed out softly.

"Because it still wasn't right." He huffed, his tone growing ironic. "Core coding is a pain in the aft sometimes, but it is there for a reason. I broke the ethical standards of my profession, Prime."

"Your record of service has, to this point, been exemplary." The Prime noted gently with a touch of sadness. Ratchet had managed to set aside his personal antagonism for Prowl in the past, when the tactician had first defected.

Ratchet nodded once, his bearing resigned but accepting. "And this is a black mark that will follow me long after the war is over, I know. But I will not run from it or try to deny it, Prime."

Optimus watched as Ratchet pulled out a datapad and quickly downloaded a file before handing it to him. Their hands nearly brushed as Optimus took the datapad and in that brief contact, he could feel the intense mix of emotions the medic was keeping a tight leash on. With concern, he read the document presented to him. It was the official form for filing a 'breach of medical ethics' to the Iacon Medical Academy and Ratchet had already completed it. All that was needed was the Prime's confirmation for it to be submitted.

The Prime felt his own spark clench in pain. He did not want to sign this, a stain that would tarnish Ratchet's otherwise flawless service record. The CMO's bedside manner might leave a lot to be desired, but never had he actually violated the ethical standards of his profession. Optimus was loath to permanently mar that record with what the matrix was affirming was a temporary loss of judgment. But he also knew the dangers of _not_ addressing such matters even when they seemed relatively small. It was a slippery slope and he could not help the small flick of pride in his CMO and friend that Ratchet would not tolerate such a thing, even from himself.

With a small nod that somehow conveyed his reluctance, Optimus pressed his hand to the pad and let his field flare to impress his EM pattern on the document. Within a second the confirmation screen vanished and was replaced by a blinking, deceptively benign message that read: 'Thank you, your document has been successfully submitted.'

Had they not been at war such a complaint could easily ruin the career of the medic in question. As it was, Ratchet would likely still receive the censure of the medical community. But that would not change the fact he was still the Prime's CMO because Optimus was not about to dismiss him for such a thing. Silently, Ratchet accepted the datapad back, slipping it into subspace without even looking at at the screen.

"I know you have a lot against Prowl." Optimus said softly, "But what I told Jazz is true and applies to you as well."

Ratchet looked down. "Do I owe Prowl an apology? Yes. Do I wish to do so? That I cannot say. He has gone out of his way to not be a threat to myself or my staff since he has been here, I know this. But the fact remains that my department continues to be at special risk because of him. And you know the cruel 'games' the Decepticons like to play with medics because we are non-combatants. That is not something that is so easy to forgive."

"Has he asked you to forgive him?" Optimus asked pointedly.

Ratchet did not answer immediately and his armor shifted. He had scanned Prowl's processor twice now and he knew the point Optimus was actually trying to make. Taking in and releasing a deep vent of air, Ratchet answered the real question. "No, nor do I believe he will. He knows what a violation of his own ethical coding those orders were and does not believe he should be forgiven, hence he has not asked. Nor did he particularly hold what just happened against me. Does that make me less concerned about him personally? Not yet, especially now. You are the Prime, Optimus, I will trust your judgment."

"Will you talk to him?" Optimus pressed.

"When I am ready." Ratchet nodded reluctantly. "I know we need to regain his trust and that some of that burden now rests on me. I do not like it because I am not sure just how much I trust him, but I will speak to him. When I am ready. Please do not ask more of me now."

Optimus nodded, respecting his CMO's limits. "You may go."

With a nod that was half acknowledgement and half apology, Ratchet took his leave.

… … …

Jazz stalked through the corridors without really seeing anything, though a part of his processor was consistently taking in data from his sensors and processing his surroundings in the background. The all but visible storm cloud that was Jazz's field warned other mechs away from him. For many of the rank and file, this was the first true glimpse they had witnessed to just how dangerous a mech the normally easygoing saboteur actually was.

With a silent snarl, Jazz stepped on the lift and jabbed the controls to make it drop.

He was deposited in the detention area and the hapless mech manning the central station jumped to his pedes, but Jazz flicked a digital transmission to him telling the poor bot to stand down. He marched down one long hallway and then down another to one that dead-ended in a special, carefully insulated cell. It was where they put over-charged brawlers until their systems had burnt through the high-grade.

Jazz let himself in and then locked the door.

Well, he was imprisoned for what he had done to an innocent mech. That should make him feel better. Instead his processors replayed again – in exacting detail – Prowl's willing submission to his hostility, his knowing surrender to the fragmentation on top of the anger and despair the tactician had felt at the time. He wanted to be angry at Prowl for letting him do something like that, but Jazz knew himself well enough to know that had Prowl actually fought him – or even attempted to protect himself – he would have done far worse. And in doing worse, would have had even more to feel guilty about.

Fraggit all to Pit! Unintentionally or not, Prowl had actually protected Jazz from himself by _not_ fighting.

With a roar of frustration and self-directed fury, Jazz slammed a balled fist into the nearest wall. The special allow and polymer structure absorbed the blow and dissipated the force into the wall, leaving both itself and Jazz undamaged. The silver minibot struck the wall several more times, giving it the beating he knew Prowl should have given him. Then it struck him just how immature he was being at the moment and he stilled, his vents working to cool his frame.

The wall hadn't hurt anyone, he had. Acting on impulse, Jazz crossed to the back wall and with a flick of a thought accessed the controls that brought a restrain chair – designed for those who were self-destructive – out of the floor. Almost carelessly, he threw himself onto it, wirelessly activating the restraints and the chair transformed around him to effectively immobilize him.

Yes, if he was going to be imprisoned for his crime against Prowl, he would go all out, not allowing himself to throw a youngling-like temper tantrum.

Jazz sat like that, buried in self-recriminations for at least a joor. During that time, he intentionally replayed the events, his processor racing, reviewing the whole thing over and over again. He ruthlessly picked apart every assumption he had made, every mistake he had committed, every wrong he had done and figured out dozens of ways he could have realized the truth, hundreds of things he could have done differently.

Eventually Jazz realized it didn't matter what _might_ have happened. The damage was already done.

And sitting there in self-pity did nothing to fix the problem. Jazz had been the one to hurt Prowl; he was the one who had to fix this. Or at least try.

But he couldn't do anything sitting there in the brig.

"_Report to the brig for the rest of the orn. If you wish..."_ The Prime had said. _"Restoring Prowl's trust is more important…"_

With some creative grammatical interpretation, Jazz could make that order fit his needs. And he could always finish his brig time later.

With the flick of a command transmitted to the cell's controls, the restrain chair released him. Jazz was almost to the door by the time it unlocked and popped open for him.

Once again, he breezed past the watch-mech and made his way back to the main part of the base. It was late, Jazz belatedly realized as he noticed the corridors were only sparsely occupied. With an irritated huff, he rechecked his chronometer.

Humph. Late indeed.

Perhaps Prowl had not gone into recharge yet.

So Jazz made his way to Prowl's quarters. As it turned out, however, the tactician was not there. Jazz paused momentarily, considering his options. But he really was not sure what the best next step would be. As if on cue, a quiet ping on his HUD alerted him that his fuel levels were nearing 30%. Apparently he had burned through more than he had thought back in the cell. Of course, he had not bothered to refuel since the debacle of a mission that had started all this. And had blatantly ignored his systems while in the throws of self-reproach. Besides, his systems were designed to remain functional at far lower energon levels than most would believe.

With a sigh of air he quietly headed for the rec room. It was something to do, at least, though he was determined to keep his fuel levels at 50%, as Prowl had been kept during the first part of his parole as a POW. It was only fair, especially as it would only be for seven more orns before the decaorn was up.

… … …

There was only a smattering of mechs in the rec room as Jazz ghosted to the dispenser. He was planning to just disappear back to his own quarters but the words of a couple of mechs – speaking together quietly in a corner – caught his attention.

"I don't know, the Prime said it wasn't Prowl's fault."

"But he went on a fragging rampage for 6 stinking joors. A mech doesn't do that just 'cause."

Jazz paused and looked over in time to see the first speaker shake his helm. "If he was falsely accused, ya can't blame him for being upset. Cobalt saw it. Prowl is a very dangerous mech."

The second mech snorted air through his vents. "He is a tactician. Dangerous with data perhaps, but…"

"No, Joust!" The first speaker interrupted and Jazz realized he had drifted several steps closer to them so as to better hear. "Dangerous like: Prowl was tearing up a training room and taking on three mechs at once… for _six_ joors. Cobalt said he would like, tear their sparks out, slam them into walls, rip limbs off… simulated or not. He was _violent!_"

"Six joors?" The second mech asked incredulously and received a firm nod. "Slag."

"Yeah; slag."

They both fell silent for a moment as they both took a sip from their energon cubes. Then the second mech shook his helm again. "Remind me not to get on his bad side, then."

With a softy grunt, Jazz moved away, having heard enough. He had felt the roiling, burning rage and aggression rolling off Prowl in the conference room. Here was his proof of just how much Prowl had _wanted_ to strike him down. Yet he had not done so. The tactician had apparently taken care to wait till no one else would be hurt, not even those who had hurt him.

Jazz's respect for the former Decepticon's character took a spike upward. He also saw a glimpse, a tantalizing hint – of just who prowl really was. It was a better vision than even all his previous scans of the defector's processor had afforded him. Renewed guilt draped even more heavily over Jazz's spark.

Prowl had trusted him – had given him access to his processor multiple times – including this last time. And Jazz knew he had broken that trust. And ultimately without cause because Prowl had been innocent in this case. He knew what he had to do, but found he was suddenly nervous about doing so.

_Regaining Prowl's trust is more important._ The Prime had told him.

Jazz continued to hesitate just a moment, right outside the rec-room, but decision flared in his chassis and determination girded his struts. He would make this right, if he could, and he would do it _now._ He accessed the tracking device welded to the former Decepticon's frame…and blinked.

Prowl was just across the corridor, in the observation room. The minibot downed the energon left in his cube in one gulp and tossed the empty container into the recycler before he walked the short distance to the observation deck entry.

Newfound determination not withstanding, Jazz still hesitated at the door itself. He knew Prowl probably knew he was there, and he knew Prowl probably did _not_ want to have anything to do with him right now. Nothing civil, anyway. Leaving would be cowardice and hurtful to a mech he had already hurt. And continuing to wait would be foolish.

Taking in a deep vent of air, Jazz opened the door and stepped inside the dimly lit observation room.

Prowl was standing next to the crystalline window, staring out at the recharging city below. The Praxian said nothing.

Cautiously, Jazz slid forward, though he was careful to stop a very respectful distance away to watch the tactician. Prowl seemed calm enough at the moment, but Jazz knew the fury that should be directed at him. Indeed, Prowl never even flicked a doorwing to acknowledge his presence.

Jazz looked down, not sure how to begin this conversation and trying not to worry about the possibility it might become quite a bit more physical than just a mere exchange of words. A part of him still wanted the beat-down he knew he deserved. The saboteur tried again to frame his apology, not sure how it would be received.

However, before Jazz could so much as activate his vocalizer, armor plating shifted over the Praxian's frame and Prowl's doorwings finally flicked in acknowledgement of his presence.

"Jazz."

Armor clamped tightly to his frame, his field flickering with hints of his inner turmoil, Jazz took a few steps forward. This was not going to be an easy conversation.

* * *

_PS: If you want the rest of the conversation, it's featured in chapter 24 of "Turning Points." (I didn't include it here because it was already written in Jazz's POV) _


	2. Chapter 2

_**Note:**__ This chapter takes place before and during chapter 25 of Turning Points. _

* * *

A couple of orns after his rather uncomfortable discussion with Prowl, Jazz stopped by the tactical department to speak to Smokescreen about an idea he had for gathering intelligence on Decepticon troop movements. However, when he arrived it was to find Smokescreen synched with Prowl at one of the terminals. Both mechs were fully engrossed in what they were working on and it made Jazz pause.

Glancing around briefly, Jazz sidled up to Trailbreaker's station and greeted him jauntily.

Trailbreaker blinked and then smiled in greeting before making a face of disgust. "Smokescreen is busy babysitting that former Decepticon."

It was Jazz's turn to blink at the open display of distrust and dislike. "I can see that. Know what they're workin' on?"

Trailbreaker huffed and then his shoulders sagged. "Smokescreen wanted to try taking out two Decepticon-held outposts at the same time. He thinks Prowl can help make it possible." Then the brown mech's armor flared aggressively as he stared hard at the black and white Praxian. "Like he helped take out those fragging 'Con safe-houses."

"That wasn't his fault, ya know." Jazz told the tactician, feeling his own ethical programming ping him with uncomfortable reminders of his failure.

"Doesn't mean the mech is trust-worthy enough to trust such a bold plan to." Trailbreaker pointed out.

Jazz could not help smirking. "If he were trusted, I don't think Smokescreen would be over there watchin' him from within his own head." He saw Trailbreaker's optics widen at that point and then his armor relaxed as he realized his boss was not actually being foolishly trusting. Seeing that, Jazz ventured to ask another question. "So, how long have they been at it?"

"Almost two whole orns now." Trailbreaker snorted air again and returned to his own terminal as if it really was not that important. "As soon as Prowl got here after the last mission Smokescreen took him into his office to read him the riot act and then they immediately came out here and got to work."

"I see." Jazz murmured softly. Prowl had indeed gone back to work the next morning after their chat in the observation room. That was awfully soon after a fragmentation, especially since he was having to do his work through a one-sided connection rather than a true tandem synch.

Suppressing a shiver, Jazz hurriedly left the tactical department. He knew that for himself, he would not have wanted to be anywhere near a one-sided synch after getting as fragmented as Prowl had, much less on the receiving end of said connection. He could only imagine the processor ache that would cause.

That made Jazz pause. Processor ache.

Making an abrupt right turn at the next intersection, Jazz walked resolutely toward the med bay.

Jazz paused outside the entrance to Ratchet's domain and cycled air through his intakes. Ratchet's distrust and dislike for Prowl was well known, even if the CMO had gone out of his way to see to the defecting tactician's well being from time to time, so Jazz was a little leery in bringing this up with the medic. Actually, it was a little confusing to Jazz when he considered the mixed signals he was getting as to Ratchet's opinion of Prowl. The CMO did not trust or like him personally, but would gladly accept Prowl's willingness to be a 'learning opportunity' for his apprentice and he was be willing to put on a dramatic display of being righteously outraged over how Prowl had been treated when Ironhide and Smokescreen had sent him on that ill-fated mission to expose Barricade. Then Ratchet would turn around and let the mech get fragmented.

Jazz was used to his own ethical subroutines being stretched by the nature of his job, but Ratchet… not so much.

With a little shake that settled his armor over his frame, Jazz pushed his own musing aside and stepped into the med bay. Two steps in, he paused and looked around. It was almost eerily quiet. His sensors however told Jazz that the CMO and First Aid were in one of the isolated treatment rooms with a patient. So Jazz resolved to wait as long as he was able.

"Hey, Jazz." Jolt smiled, walking up to him. "Can I help you with something?"

Jazz gave the blue and black medic a grin that did not reveal his previous thoughts. "Actually, I needed ta ask Ratchet a question. But ya might know the answer."

Jolt blinked and then rolled the armor on his shoulders as if loosening gears. "Perhaps. I'll give it a go."

Jazz nodded and winced, suddenly hearing slightly muffled, snarled curses coming from the general direction where Ratchet was working on a patient. "Right. Just curious, how soon is it safe for a mech to do… say a complicated, multi-layered analysis through a one-way connection after a moderately serious fragmentation?"

Jolt blinked, optics widening briefly and then they unfocused as a thoughtful look crossed his faceplate as he considered the appropriate answer. "Technically speaking it's possible for a mech to do that immediately, but it would be _very_ uncomfortable until all the reconstructed data paths and linkages had time to strengthen and the risk of accidental fragmentation would be high… for at least a decaorn."

Jazz had gone completely stiff at hearing the timeframe. His voice was equally as tight, thinking about Smokescreen and Prowl working at that terminal. "How commonly known is that?"

Jolt shrugged, "Well, the mech who got fragmented would know it was uncomfortable from the moment he tried to do it, but since it isn't that common an activity in most functions I wouldn't say that it's that widely known."

So there was a possibility Smokescreen had no idea the pain and/or risk he was subjecting Prowl too. For some reason, Jazz was absolutely sure Prowl would have said nothing on the matter even if he _had_ known beforehand. Frag the Praxian's ethical programming too, because Jazz was sure it would keep him from protesting a superior officer's order even if he knew the risks or had a splitting processor ache because of them.

"Why?"

Jazz looked up into the concerned and curious medic's optics. "Hm?"

"Why are you interested in…" Jolt trailed off as his mind retrospectively pieced together what he knew and the possibilities explaining Jazz's current line of questioning. "You're talking about that former Decepticon aren't you? He's the only one on base whose been fragmented lately." Light blue optics flashed in alarm. "You mean… he's back working in _tactical_ after what he did to…"

"Prowl didn't do anything!" Jazz interrupted the medic, his engine revving before he could stop it and his voice fell. "But… yeah. 'Parrently he and Smokey have been working together since the day after I… after he was fragmented."

"And they've been doing it through a one way connection." Jolt finished and at Jazz's nod he let out a snort of air. "Serves him right if he gets a processor ache out of it. I've lost friends because of him."

Jazz's optics flashed behind his visor. "So have I, mech. We all have." Deflating suddenly, Jazz rubbed a hand over his faceplate. "Doesn't justify hurting him just 'cause."

There was an uneasy silence between them for a handful of seconds before Jazz glanced sidelong at the uncomfortable junior medic. "Sorry I snapped at ya. Thanks for the info, Jolt."

Jazz turned to leave but Jolt called out to him, his tone a hint bitter. "You know, the Prime filed a complaint to the Iacon Medical Academy about that incident. It was published on the bulletin the orn after everything happened."

Jazz just stared at the younger mech, not fully comprehending the words and the medic hesitantly took a couple of steps toward him, hands clenching into fists that trembled at the depth of his emotions over the matter.

"Ratchet is a _good_ medic." Jolt said, his words strained. "One of the best, and he didn't even _do_ anything to Prowl, but _he_ is the one who's career will be haunted by that incident for the rest of his functioning."

Jazz blinked, feeling like he had been slapped by the unspoken but implied accusation. Jazz had been the one to actually fragment Prowl in violation of ethical guidelines, but Ratchet was the one who was going to bear the stigma of the incident. It made his tanks churn.

"He could have stopped me." Jazz's words were softly spoken.

Jolt snorted. "None of us would have in his place. And that's the thing of it. In the big scheme of things, Prowl probably deserved…ugh, never mind."

Jazz felt his own guilt and self-disgust coil around his spark and he stormed up to the taller mech, fists clenched tightly. "No one deserves ta have their mind ripped apart like that. 'Specially not an innocent mech."

Jolt snarled, vorns of pain and fear flashing behind his optics. "Prowl is anything but _innocent._ You know what those monsters do to us. Because of him!"

Jazz met Jolt's snarl with his own, his field flaring aggressively. He opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted as a wrench sailed through the air between them, making both mechs flinch away from each other, effectively separating them. Both junior medic and saboteur looked at the source of the flying hardware.

Ratchet was standing in the doorway of the isolated treatment room, glowering at them both. Seeing the chartreuse wrath of a CMO and now knowing that the mech had taken official censure for an action that wasn't entirely his fault while he had himself only received a tap on the wrist gears… all aggressive posturing left Jazz and he lifted his hands, stepping away from Jolt.

"Why are you intimidating my medics, Jazz?" Ratchet demanded, arms crossing over his chassis.

"I just had a question. We had a disagreement." Jazz tried to give the CMO his best 'there ain't anything going on here' grin, but it fell flat. He looked at Jolt. "Sorry ta get in your face, Jolt my mech. It's just kinda a touchy subject."

Jolt snorted and then his frame sagged. "I understand. I… I shouldn't have blamed you."

Jazz flinched at that and looked away. "Yeah. Yeah ya should have." Unable to bear Ratchet's now incredulous gaze, Jazz spun around and darted from the med bay. He did not stop till he made it to the training room.

… … …

Ratchet watched Jazz leave and then looked at Jolt, who was now staring at the floor in front of his pedes, armor clamped tightly to his frame looking for all the universe like a sparkling waiting to be spanked on the after plating for some naughty deed. Releasing a sigh of air he spoke with the resigned air of a tired caretaker.

"Dare I ask what that was about?"

Jolt shifted his weight a little and did not look up when he spoke. "Jazz had a question about how safe it was for Prowl to do certain aspects of his function so soon after getting fragmented…" Ratchet managed not to wince, but just barely, "… and I told him. Apparently Prowl started doing a complex, multi-level analysis through a one way connection two orns ago."

Ratchet just stared and then his engine growled. "That… that… rusted, two-bit, slagging aft-processored _glitch_!"

"It's been two orns, so the actual risk of an additional fragmentation is rather slim, though, right?" Jolt asked, his voice tiny.

Ratchet huffed air and turned away. Technically Jolt was correct, the worst danger would have been that first orn. Even so, he could only imagine the processor ache that Prowl must have after a full shift of work. Then he stilled, his vents flaring. That did not fully explain why Jazz and Jolt looked as if they were about to exchange blows. Not unless… Ratchet's engine revved and he moved pointedly toward his office and closed the door, wanting to be alone.

He knew that his staff, to a mech, were upset about the official censure from the Iacon Medical Academy. To be frank, he was not happy about it either, though he knew it was well deserved. Ratchet also knew his staff believed Jazz should have had something similar on his record since he had been the one to actually fragment Prowl. The CMO would be dishonest if he said that the same thing had not crossed his own processor. But he knew the differences between their functions and he knew the lack of official, long-term reprimand would probably bother Jazz as well. Probably more than if there had been something official on his file. Jazz would not have become so irate if he was not bothered by the fact, especially if that was what Jolt had confronted him about.

With another shake of his helm, Ratchet pushed the problem away and focused on his own work.

Several joors later he was interrupted by the entry request chime on his office door. Startled, Ratchet looked up and bade the other mech enter. It was Jazz.

The silver minibot took a couple of steps in and waited for the door to slide shut behind them. To Ratchet's surprise, Jazz seemed unusually uncomfortable.

"Yes?" The CMO asked as Jazz failed to say anything.

Jazz considered him a moment longer and then straightened, seeming to steel his struts, and he took another step forward to slide into the guest chair in front of Ratchet. "I read the official complaint filed by the Prime."

Ratchet just stared, not sure how to react. Finally he settled on repeating, "yes?"

"I know both of ya well enough ta tell. Ya wrote that thing yourself." It was almost an incredulous question but also a half-sparked accusation.

Ratchet sat taller, folding his hands on top of his desk as he regarded the smaller mech with outward calm. "Your point?"

A thousand different emotions flickered through Jazz's expression – even shielded by his visor – and field, finally settling on vague discomfort, grim determination and mild irritation. Movements abrupt, Jazz held out a hand, a small memory chip appearing between his fingers. He held it out to Ratchet.

Slowly, Ratchet lifted a hand and took the chip, looking at the mech offering it to him. "What is this?"

"Jolt was right." Jazz said with an artificially casual shrug tucking his now empty hand in his lap. "It ain't fair for ya to have a black mark that can destroy your career once tha war is over."

Because all that was protecting his career at this point was his position as CMO and the Prime's blunt refusal to replace him with anyone else. Because, ethical blemish or not, Ratchet was still the best-qualified mech on the planet. That did not explain what it was that Jazz had just given him. As if reading his thoughts, Jazz continued, his tone quiet and somber.

"We won't be at war forever." He nodded toward the chip Ratchet was still holding between them. "Spec Ops isn't pretty. In war leaders look the other way 'cause they need us. But once there is peace?" He shrugged. "That's enough ta have me stasis locked or off-lined."

The small chip instantly burned Ratchet's fingers and he wanted to drop it on the desk between them but he restrained the impulse, looking at the saboteur. "Jazz?"

Jazz stood, half turned away and then glanced back at him. "Recorded confessions. It's tha only copy. If ya use 'em, I'll know I had it coming."

"_Why?" _Ratchet demanded, voice as tight as a stretched tension cable.

"It could be a long war." Jazz said simply. "Ya saw how I slipped up this time."

With that, Jazz was gone and Ratchet could do nothing but stare after him.

… … …

Ratchet might have been able to focus on his work as necessary, but in the rare moments of down time – the bare spaces of time he had nothing to occupy his hands or processors – he found himself thinking about the small chip Jazz had given him. He had not looked at it and had no intention of doing so, not _wanting_ to know about the darker side of Jazz's job and was unexpectedly grateful for the front of jovial ease the saboteur affected most of the time. The scary, precious gift and implied trust inherent in Jazz offering that chip in the first place, threatened to stall his processor if he thought about it too much. Thus the chip was nestled safely in a secondary, highly encrypted and shielded subspace pocket.

The CMO could not perceive the chip's physical presence so long as it was in subspace, but the metaphorical weight of knowing what it was and that he had it, was almost tangible. That was why he was somewhat distracted as he made his way to the staff briefing. Without a word and without more than a token acknowledgement of the Prime and Ultra Magnus, Ratchet took his place at the table, waiting until Smokescreen arrived.

It was more the shifting of the mechs around him and the subtle change in the tension of the briefing room that told Ratchet something had changed. He looked up from his datapad to see that Prowl was accompanying Smokescreen, staying just the proper distance behind his department commander.

Ratchet felt an ill-defined sensation in his chassis at seeing the former Decepticon again. It was a touch of trepidation and a good helping of guilt, but he hid both behind a scowl. Around him some of the commanders muttered and growled their displeasure at seeing Prowl. If he was aware of their negative regard, the tactician gave no indication of offense or of even being affected at all.

Ratchet listened without comment as Smokescreen proceeded to lay out the plan developed by his department to retake two Autobot outposts that the Decepticons had captured in the Centari-tetrax region. It took several breems, but soon the field commanders were enthusiastically discussing the details. Around the CMO even the senior commanders were growing optimistically interested. That discussion lasted for just over a joor before everyone seemed satisfied with the details.

Ratchet had to admit he was impressed; usually such a plan was still somewhat unfinished by the time Smokescreen presented it and it would fall to the combat team leaders to finish polishing it out. But that was not the case this time. What he presented this orn was a fully completed battle plan. And, even though Ratchet was the first to admit he knew little of such things, even he could see that it was of a caliber Smokescreen had never been able to deliver before.

Automatically, Ratchet's attention flitted to the black and white tactician standing behind Smokescreen and he suspected he knew the plan's true origins.

A momentary lull in the conversation brought Ratchet's attention back to the meeting itself, just in time for Ultra Magnus to say what was clearly on more than one processor, "This is impressive, Smokescreen. But it will require a tactician in the theater of combat to help manage the flow of battle. Do you have someone who can actually do that effectively?"

The other commanders mutter generalized agreement and Smokescreen seemed to become unaccountably nervous. The white and gray tactician cleared his vents. "Um, yes. The same mech who developed the plan actually…"

Smokescreen continued to outline how the tactical department would manage the battle while Ultra Magnus finally realized this was not something Smokescreen's department had come up with on their own. Ratchet, however was staring at Prowl. Finally Smokescreen revealed that Prowl was the sole originator of the battle plan and there was a mere sparkbeat of silence before the fervor of heated outrage filled the room.

The whole time Ratchet remained silent, not participating, as he stared at Prowl. The former Deception did nothing but flick a doorwing, though Ratchet could tell his internal temperature inched upward. It was clear the tactician was not surprised by the commanders' reactions. Smokescreen, however was becoming visibly more upset, especially after Air Raid made an unnecessarily acidic comment.

Until Prowl touched his arm with two fingers. When Prowl spoke, his words were calm and measured. "Smokescreen himself monitored the development of this strategy and was meticulous in reviewing each step."

Ratchet's systems sucked in an intake of air. The one-sided connection Jazz had mentioned to Jolt had been another monitored analysis. And this plan was the obvious result of that analysis. Ratchet had to admit it seemed like good work for something that was done in such demanding circumstances. Ratchet continued to study Prowl as the conversation of the commanders shifted and Smokescreen started to defend his inclusion of Prowl in the process and how he was vital to carrying out ground actions. Ratchet had to agree with Ironhide, there was no way _he_ would follow Prowl's orders.

Pushing aside the brief stab of guilt that automatic negation triggered in his CPU, Ratchet was an astrosecond late processing Smokescreen's response concerning Crankshaft's objection about time lag in issuing orders, "…if I am in his head."

Blinking, Ratchet sat up straighter leaning forward in muted alarm. He was not the only one. Crankshaft's optics widened as they darted over to Prowl. "A direct interface?"

"Through a hub, but yes." Smokescreen gave a single, decisive nod.

Ratchet frowned. The former Decepticon had been recently fragmented and he was going to be subjected a one-way interface for the length of an entire battle? Of all mechs, Ratchet was very familiar with how draining that was on a mech's processor.

"For the entire battle?" Ratchet heard himself ask with cold fury.

"If that is what is necessary." Smokescreen said simply.

Optics snapping back to Smokescreen as the pestering guilt he felt at his own violation of Prowl's mind suddenly focused on another mech all but promising to do the same thing, Ratchet glared at Smokescreen. "That is totally…"

"His idea!" Smokescreen blurted quickly, cringing away from Ratchet's heated glare.

That assertion brought Ratchet up and he glanced at Prowl in surprise only to have the older Praxian nod his confirmation. For the briefest of moments the former Decepticon's optics met the medic's. It was the first time Prowl had met his gaze since he had been fragmented and Ratchet was honestly shocked – and perhaps a little spooked – that there was absolutely no raging accusation or anger in that gaze.

Then the moment was broken as Prowl looked at Smokescreen when the younger tactician began explaining that without Prowl the near-perfect plan he had just outlined would need to be completely changed and made significantly less aggressive.

As expected, there was protest over that assertion and then further discussion over whether or not Prowl should be trusted to that extent. As if that was not enough, Ratchet listened without comment as Prowl also explained the need for sensory uplinks in each theater of combat.

The very idea of linking his sensory signals to a mech like Prowl was enough to make Ratchet shiver, even though he was not being asked to do so. Then Ironhide cut off Smokescreen's attempt to offer an alternative, looking at Prowl with intense optics. "That is how you managed to help Hound and his team defeat, what twenty-something 'Cons when you didn't have your doorwings."

It was more of a statement than a question and Ratchet remembered the incident as well. Prowl had been seriously injured from when the Decepticons had captured and tortured him. And he had been recently hacked… or rather the Decepticons had _attempted_ to hack him. Prowl had not only directed that battle, he had fought in it himself while severely injured. Suddenly, Ratchet did not doubt the Praxian's ability to perform as advertized.

Prowl nodded slowly. "Yes. And I deleted their access codes as soon as hostilities ceased." The tactician gestured toward Ratchet with two fingers. "A fact that is easily confirmed."

Now the center of attention for all the mechs in the briefing room, Ratchet nodded, though he never took his own optics off the Praxian. "He is correct."

Prowl went on to offer other suggestions rather than a direct uplink and Ratchet found he was impressed yet again. It was clear to him – having been inside Prowl's mind a couple of times now – that the tactician really wanted the opportunity to prove himself, but was fulfilling his function in accurately detailing _all_ possible options.

It was Ironhide who answered Prowl, his engine revving loudly. "Well, I'm tired of not being able to take the battle to the 'Cons." The black mech slammed a hand on the table and looked at the field commanders. "I'm willing to do this." Then he looked back at Prowl with hard fire in his optics. "I'll even give you access to my sensory uplink. But I want them gone as soon as it is over and Ratchet will be checking that they are. If they aren't…"

Ratchet barely registered Prowl's surprisingly calm reply as his own audios stalled and he had to reset them and replay his memory file of Ironhide's statement. He heard Prowl's reply and the other field commander's consideration of Prowl's concessions, but the CMO was focused on Ironhide.

_/Why me?/_ Ratchet demanded, hissing the question over a private comm. line to Ironhide.

Ironhide did not even look his direction as he answered. _/After what happened? I wasn't about to suggest Jazz be the one. No telling how he'd take that./_

Ratchet almost sputtered around his intakes. _/We were __**both**__ in his head, in case you have forgotten!/_

_/But you helped him defrag. Hopefully that means he won't be as reluctant to let __**you**__ back in./_

Ratchet wanted to cuss but propriety and his own dignity kept him quiet. Even so, dawning horror and persistent guilt melted together and for one terrifying moment, Ratchet was not sure he would be able to make himself do what Ironhide had just volunteered him for.

Even when Optimus made the point of telling Prowl that it would be foolish for them not to take steps to ensure Prowl did not betray them, Prowl's outer calm did not waiver.

"I would not expect you to do anything less." Ratchet could see nothing but sobriety in the Praxian's gaze and demeanor. Yes, Prowl was very much aware of the risk he was asking the Autobots to take, Ratchet realized, and he knew what kind of precautions the Prime might consider. Then Prowl lowered his gaze back to the table and adopted a more submissive posture. "I will not contest or resist any measures you choose to take to prevent such a thing from happening, Prime."

"You don't even know what those measures will be." Optimus pointed out softly and Ratchet heard his own shock mirrored in his leaders words.

Prowl's optics darted so briefly to Ratchet as he answered Optimus that the CMO thought he probably imagined it. Even so, it was enough to remind him of the first time Prowl had helped their tactical department. Prowl had done a heavily monitored analysis, all the while expecting that either Ratchet or Jazz would be stripping the data from his mind once the analysis was complete.

"Know that, due to the dramatic leap of trust this is requiring, another processor scan may be called for once it is over." Optimus said slowly, cautiously.

Ratchet saw the barest hint of a wince in the Praxian's optics and the tactician carefully did not look at Jazz. "I agreed to the terms of my parole. I will abide by that agreement, Prime."

Just as he had in the briefing room when he had been accused of betraying them, when he had made himself vulnerable and let himself be fragmented… Ratchet was aware that his tanks were churning. Guilt, Ratchet identified the physical symptoms belatedly. It was guilt. And a touch of fear.

… … …

As Ratchet surveyed the mechs gathered at the extraction coordinates he had to admit the casualty count was much lower than he had expected. Pit, it was much lower than any other mission of such magnitude the Autobots had ever attempted. He knew the mech directing the battle had been Prowl, but it would have been nice to at least imagine it had been Smokescreen.

For now however, the seriously wounded – thankfully a small list – were already in stasis pods and loaded for transport back to Iacon. The lightly damaged and walking-wounded were being tended by the junior medics. Overall the mission was a brilliant success, at least from the medical perspective. And, judging from the expressions on the field commanders' faceplates, it was a success from their end as well.

"Ratchet!"

The CMO turned around to find Ironhide hurrying up to him. Out of well-ingrained habit, Ratchet was scanning the mech for any damages as soon as he was close enough to do so. If the weapons specialist was irritated by the high-powered scan, he gave no indication of even being aware of it.

"Is there a problem?" Ratchet asked when nothing obviously wrong presented itself.

"Not yet." Ironhide rumbled. "Crankshaft, Hardstrike, Steelbrow and I want the issue of Prowl having the access codes for our sensory uplinks taken care of as soon as possible."

Ratchet cocked an optic ridge. "Right now?"

"Unfortunately not." Ironhide grunted, armor shifting uneasily. "He and the tactical team aren't here. They were in a non-disclosed location where they could monitor the battles. But they will be returning to Iacon just like we are. Since they aren't combatants they should be the last ones on the ground."

Ratchet's engine revved, his own words sharper than they probably need to be. "And you want me to delay treating my patients to scan a former Decepticon's processor?"

Ironhide had the good graces to flinch. "Well, see if First Aid will do the scan then." Ratchet's optics flashed dangerously and Ironhide quickly held up a hand. "Hey, look at it from our perspective. Would _you_ want to go about your daily life knowing that a former Decepticon had easy access to _your_ sensory readings? Even if he's proven himself loyal so far?"

Though Ratchet continued to glare at the black mech, he understood, even if the thought of scanning that mech so soon after Prowl's combat systems had been running was a little intimidating. Ratchet knew the power of Prowl's processor and he knew Prowl had every reason not to want one of the mechs who had fragmented him anywhere near his processor again. Even if the tactician had verbalized acceptance of the arrangement. Ratchet had no doubt the only thing that would make Prowl give him that access was the mech's slagging ethical program.

Just thinking about what Prowl had done to his own command cortex by messing with his ethical programs made Ratchet's engine growl. "Fine." He spun away from Ironhide to finish readying his patients for pick up.

"We'll all be there. The four of us, I mean." Ironhide called out, causing Ratchet to pause. "We won't let him hurt you."

Ratchet transmitted his understanding even though he stood there for another couple of sparkbeats. While he suspected there would be a certain level of assurance with four warriors watching his back, a part of Ratchet's processor actually had the bearings to suggest that he would not need any protection from Prowl. And Ratchet was torn as to whether he wanted to believe that possibility or not.

With a flare of his armor, Ratchet started moving again. The retrieval ships would be there in less than two breems.

When they arrived back in Iacon, Ratchet was intercepted by Hardstrike as he exited the medical transport. "Ironhide is just now landing. Crankshaft and Steelbrow are over here."

With a small grumble, Ratchet followed the bulky warrior. Within a short time, Ironhide joined them. Ratchet ignored their conversations as he waited – processor split between organizing the triage in med bay and worrying about what he was about to do."

"Ratchet," Ironhide's direct address interrupted Ratchet's thoughts and he looked at the black warrior. "Ultra Magnus wants him scanned again. A full scan about the mission and his reactions to what happened. He wants to make sure the leeway he was granted this mission doesn't give him delusions of grandeur."

"Is that a 'thank you' for directing such a successful campaign?" Ratchet snarked back, increasingly uneasy knowing the level of personal files he would be looking through. 'Invasive' was only a mildly appropriate term. Despite the restrictions Prowl was under due to his own ethical program, what mech would willingly submit to such repeated invasions of privacy?

_A mech that did not deserve to get fragmented. A mech you failed to protect. _ Ratchet wanted to swear at the whispered accusation of his own ethical programming. Pit, he had not even had the courage yet to discuss with Prowl and apologize for his own role in that fragmentation and now he was going to have to do a rather invasive scan… in front of witnesses.

Guilt and anxiety continued to swirl around each other in Ratchet's processor and spark as his attention was drown to the tiny stealth ship that was bringing their tactical team home.

Trailbreaker was first off the ship, looking upbeat and excited. The brown tactician wasted no time in hurrying out of the hanger. Smokescreen and Prowl followed at a more thoughtful pace, walking close together and conversing quietly and intently. Ratchet moved when the warriors around him did, walking to intercept the black and white tactician.

Both Praxians noticed their party at the same time. Smokescreen's doorwings flared upward and his hands clenched in clear frustration but Prowl seemed remarkably nonplussed. The older tactician said something to the younger one that was too low for Ratchet to hear. Whatever he said had Smokescreen's armor flaring in defiance before he finally nodded with clear reluctance. Then they parted ways.

Ratchet was not the only one moderately surprised that Prowl would choose to meet them alone. There was nothing on the former Decepticon's expression but the careful mask of neutrality as Prowl watched Smokescreen leave before turning his attention to the four field commanders with Ratchet in their midst.

No, that was not entirely true, Ratchet realized as the Praxian actually walked toward them rather than wait for the larger group to reach him. There was a certain amount of resolute determination about the Praxian that seemed at odds with the semi-submissive posture he assumed once he came to a stop before them.

"I have to admit. I wasn't sure you could pull that off." Ironhide broke the uncomfortable stillness that was threatening to form. "I see now why Smokescreen wanted you, even after that safe-house fiasco."

Prowl merely gave the black mech a professionally polite nod. "Thank you for being willing to give me the chance." Then he looked at Ratchet and the CMO felt the impact of his gaze like a physical touch. "I know your time is limited, medic, so I will not waste it. Will you be checking only for the uplink codes or are you performing a full scan?"

The abrupt, straightforwardly blunt nature of the question caused Ratchet's engine to give a tiny coughing sputter, then his own anxieties about this scan roared back to the surface, making his reply sharper than he intended it to be. "Does it matter?"

Prowl did not openly move, but Ratchet did catch the widening of his optics and the fairest flick of stiff doorwings and Ratchet knew immediately the Praxian was not as unaffected by what was about to happen as he appeared. If he did not know better, he would say the Praxian might have been just as nervous as he. And why not? Guilt made his engine rev uncomfortably.

Prowl moved then, but only to duck his helm and avert his gaze submissively. His answer was equally meek. "No, it does not matter, as I agreed to submit to both. I was merely wanting to know what to expect." A momentary pause. "I did not mean to challenge you."

For what seemed like a painfully long time, Ratchet could only stare at the Praxian. It was just like those moments immediately following when Ratchet had defragmented his processor and the tactician had thanked him. He had felt undeserving of that gratitude then and he felt undeserving of Prowl's humble surrender now. The fact that the mech was potentially dangerous and still on probation and had no legitimate reason to act any different than he was, it still made Ratchet uncomfortable.

Shaking that off and focusing on the job he was there to do, Ratchet stepped forward and connected to the dataport Prowl had conveniently uncovered for that purpose. Regardless of whether it was an intentional decision or not, Ratchet had the Prime's admonition to try and regain Prowl's trust and he knew that, if at all possible, he would not hurt Prowl as he had before.

… … …

By the early joors of the following orn, all of the wounded were stable. The frontliner, Blades, had given them a rough night of delicate surgery and several close calls, but even he was stable and was now settled in a deep stasis lock in the ICU. As the sun was just breaking the horizon Ratchet had felt comfortable in dismissing most of his staff for a couple of joors of well deserved and needed recharge. Despite the upgraded power generators most medics installed for just such occasions as this, even Ratchet was feeling the drain. A cube of medical grade energon helped, but it had been at least a decaorn since he had recharged more than a handful of joors at a time and at least two orns since he had recharged at all.

But that was the life of a medic and he had known that from the beginning so he was not about to complain about it. Not that it would do any good anyway. Besides, he would get his turn as soon as First Aid was back on duty.

Unless another emergency presented itself.

Slagging Twins! They might not have caused any trouble within the last couple of orns, but they seemed to have a sixth-sensor that was calibrated to when he needed their antics the _least._ Because that seemed to be when they always showed up beat half to the pit.

Even as caught up in his internal gripe-session as Ratchet was, he knew the moment he stepped into the main medical ward that something was different. A mech was there; a mech who was not a patient.

Frowning, all thoughts of pleasant recrimination against the Twins banished, Ratchet tensed as he followed his sensor readings toward the ICU. Wary and concerned, Ratchet opened the door to the ICU and froze. There, at the far end, silhouetted in the door to the processing room where the empty frames of the deceased were prepared for salvage and reclamation, was Prowl. Immediately suspicious about what the former Decepticon would be doing there flooded the medic's processor then he caught the tactician's whispered apology.

Whether the words of regret were directed to the inert frames or someone else, it was enough to make Ratchet freeze and consider the Praxian's body language and disposition. Those doorwings, while stiff were dipped either in respect or sorrow, his movements slow and respectful not those of someone sneaking around. Ratchet watched Prowl duck his helm in silent tribute to those who lost their lives in the last mission and then step back, allowing the door to the processing room to close.

Taking that as his cue, Ratchet stepped forward, into the ICU. "What are you doing?" He demanded of the Praxian.

Prowl turned slowly and Ratchet was further taken aback when the former Decepticon gave him a short, formal half-bow. He had just scanned the mech not a full orn ago but there was something different about Prowl now that he could not quite identify. The tactician's words only cemented that perception.

"I am remembering," Prowl said calmly but not with quite as much cool unaffectedness as he usually displayed.

Ratchet frowned, in no mood for mysteries, especially not with regards to Prowl and he pointed behind himself out of the ICU and toward the door to the medical ward. "Yeah, well, go 'remember' someplace else."

The CMO's tone was sharper than he intended it to be, much sharper than it needed to be, and Ratchet almost cringed. He knew he was exhausted, but that did not completely explain his unease with being alone in Prowl's unexpected presence. His ethical programming pinged his CPU again and he knew the real reason was lingering guilt over having played a part in Prowl getting fragmented.

The way Prowl nodded easily and respectfully with a soft, "as you wish," and another glance around the ICU – as if fixing the image in his processor – only strengthened Ratchet's own guilt.

Silently, Ratchet stood to one side of the doorway to let the tactician leave but could not bring himself to meet Prowl's optics, let alone level the glare he would have given any other healthy mech daring to violate the sanctity of his ICU. Ratchet's vents seized painfully as Prowl's field unintentionally brushed across his as the black and white mech stepped into the main medical ward.

For all that Prowl had been rightfully angry when he and Jazz had fragmented him, and as anxious as Prowl had been when Ratchet had scanned him the previous orn, Ratchet was shocked to feel the deep-seated peace that radiated off the former Decepticon. There was no anger, no fear, no anxiety there now. Only acceptance and peace and perhaps a determination Ratchet had not witnessed before. There was not even a hint of annoyance at Ratchet's interruption of whatever he had been doing.

It was perhaps that more than anything that had Ratchet calling out after the tactician even before he had consciously decided to do so.

Prowl turned back to him, his expression carefully schooled as always though his posture was also impeccably respectful and expectant. Ratchet blinked, realizing Prowl was expecting a reprimand or even a verbal brow-beating for his trespass into the ICU. Even with no external force present to make him stay – and with a well documented ability to cause damage to a mech more able to defend himself than Ratchet – Prowl was still willing to subject himself to the CMO's wrath. Just as Optimus had done on occasion.

That understanding changed something in Ratchet's perception of the former Decepticon.

Prowl was the reason the Decepticon's singled medics out for slow, painful off linings on the battlefield, and maybe that was why Prowl never protested anything Ratchet or any of other the medics did to him, but in that moment Ratchet was blindingly aware of the fact Prowl was willing to do anything to make up for that aspect of his past. And he had been from the moment he had defected, Ratchet had just been too blinded by his own anger and hatred to really see that fact.

Ratchet had asked the Prime not to ask more of him than he was able to give, especially when it came to asking Prowl to forgive _him_ after all the Decepticon had done. Optimus had given him the time he needed and now, in the face of Prowl's continued deference, Ratchet surrendered to the nagging of his ethical programming and his conscience.

Even so Ratchet's words, as he hesitatingly closed the distance between himself and the tactician, were strained. "Listen, about last decaorn…" He grimaced, clearing his vents. "Look, I'm…"

"Do not apologize, Ratchet." Prowl interrupted him gently.

Startled at the interruption as well as by what had been said, Ratchet's optics snapped up to meet Prowl's from where they had fallen contritely. Deep amber optics burned brightly with conviction.

Ratchet frowned, "I would have kept you from defending yourself from Jazz, if you had tried." Ratchet's voice was harsh with self-reproach.

Prowl studied him for a moment, optics widening a fraction. Then the former Decepticon looked away. "But I did not try. No, it was well deserved."

Ratchet just stared, struck as much by the words as by the manner in which they were delivered. Whatever Prowl had been doing in his ICU at the threshold of the processing room, it was much more than merely 'remembering.' Something had changed within the tactician. Something deep and important.

"But… that wasn't your plan." He ventured after a moment; wincing as he reminded Prowl he had been falsely accused of treachery

Prowl nodded once, not seeming to be affected by the painful memory any more. "No. But that is why I do not deserve your apology."

Ratchet blinked, that response making no sense whatsoever because that fact had been the primary reason Prowl _had_ deserved the apology. "I don't understand."

Prowl silently studied him for a few long seconds and Ratchet realized he had no idea what was going through the Praxian's processor. Finally Prowl drew in a long vent of air. "I had forgotten that my primary duty was to protect. To protect life, to protect the rights of others. I had focused only on ending the war, thinking that that alone would serve that goal. I blindly viewed orders as the only means to achieving that very narrow objective. And I failed to maintain the ethical standards I was programmed with."

The tactician paused, continuing to study Ratchet for the effect of his words, then he continued with a measured pace. "Had I remembered my primary purpose, I would never have participated in that assignment, nor would I have allowed my work to be modified by mechs inexperienced with that level of complexity, for the very reason I knew the end result had been a high probability."

It was Ratchet's turn to study the other mech silently. Prowl's words indicated that whatever had changed was at the level of core coding. He had warned the Praxian not to mess with his coding again. Then again, that damndable revamped ethical programming Prowl had would have ensured Prowl followed that order.

"And your duty to protect now supersedes your duty to obey orders?" Ratchet asked cautiously, well aware of how dangerous it was for a former Decepticon like Prowl to be free of all restraints.

Prowl shook his helm quickly if only minutely though his optics dropped to Ratchet's chassis respectfully. "Only if absolutely necessary, otherwise I am still tightly bound. Nor will it allow me to unlawfully avoid the consequences of disobeying orders. It does, however, return some autonomy."

That too was delivered with soft conviction that left Ratchet a little unsteady. He could think of no other mech – save perhaps the Prime – who could talk about such personally humiliating things with such dignity and calmness. Prowl, who had looked back up to study him cocked his helm a fraction to the side and then adopted a slightly more submissive posture.

"You are, of course, welcome to examine the changes I have mentioned, if you wish." That quiet statement was accompanied by the soft hiss of armor rearranging to reveal the tactician's dataport.

The merest breeze could have knocked Ratchet over in that moment. Despite the fragmentation and the recent scan, Prowl was making such an offer? Even in his stunned disbelief, Ratchet recognized the changes Prowl had mentioned, as he knew well the core programming of many different mechs. And he knew Prowl's core coding, had examined it in excruciating detail when the mech had first defected. Prowl's submission to that initial scan, while not exactly under duress, had not been given with many viable alternatives either. But here Prowl was offering to let him do the same type of scan once again, this time without any outside pressure to speak of.

Shaking his head firmly, with another glance at the offered dataport, Ratchet verbalized what he _knew_ to be true. "I know what your core programming is. I know it isn't a threat to us."

It was not an apology but it was something else Ratchet never would have believed he would be able to give Prowl: the first step toward trust.

~ Finis ~

* * *

_As always, I enjoy getting your feed back._

_For those of you following Turning Points, have faith; I'm still working on the next chapter. _


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